As he said this, he unloosed the bridle-reins from his body, and, taking out his knife, commenced cutting them free from the bit. It was a double rein, composed of two long pieces of closely-plaited hair taken from the tail of a horse. Brandon stood pale and trembling. He could not fail to interpret the preparations that were being made. Once more he thought of flight, and once more Pierre Robideau read his thoughts. "It is no use," he said sternly; "you are in my power. Attempt to get out of it, or resist, and I dash your brains out against that tree. Now, your wrist in this rope." Feeble with fear, Brandon allowed his left hand to be seized, and his wrist drawn into a noose made of one of the bridle-reins. The other end of the cord was passed around his thigh, and then brought back and secured by a firm knot, so as to hold the arm helpless by his side. This done, the other rein, with a running loop, was adjusted round his neck, its loose end thrown over one of the large branches. "Now," cried Robideau, "mount upon this log, and take hold, as you made me do. Quick, or I jerk you up by the neck!" Bewildered, Brandon knew not what to do. Was his enemy in earnest, or was it only a grim jest? He would fain have believed it this; but the fierce, determined look of Robideau forbade him to hope for mercy. He remembered at this moment how little he was deserving of it. He was left no time to reflect. He felt the noose tightening around his neck, and the cord stretching taut above him. In another instant he was drawn from the ground and, mechanically throwing up his right arm, he caught hold of the branch. It was the only chance to save him from almost instant strangulation! "Now," cried Robideau, who had sprung upon the log and made the rope fast to the upper limb, "now, Mr Alf Brandon, you're just as you left me six years ago. I hope you'll enjoy the situation. Good day to you!" And, with a scornful laugh, Pierre Robideau strode away from the spot. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ All the agony that can be endured by a man who sees death before him, and sees no chance to escape it, was at that hour endured by Alfred Brandon. In vain he shouted till he was hoarse, till his cries could have been no longer heard a hundred yards from the tree, soon to become his gallows. There was no response, save the echo of his own voice. No one to hear or to heed it! He had no expectation of being saved by the man who had just left him. That scornful laugh at parting precluded all hope: though in his agonised struggle he begged aloud for mercy, calling upon Pierre Robideau by name. Pierre Robideau came not to his assistance; and, after a long struggle-- protracted to the utmost point of endurance--till the arm, half disjointed, could no longer sustain his body, he let go his hold, and dropped _to the ground_.